


far beneath the ground we walk on

by homsantoft (tofsla)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/pseuds/homsantoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A traveller seeks the protection of a group of mercenaries.</p><p>There definitely aren't any dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	far beneath the ground we walk on

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a ficbit that's been on tumblr for months, so that I don't lose it; it's intended to be the beginning of a more substantial story, but please don't count on any kind of prompt updating.

"There's a rumour that a dragon's made itself at home in the mountains, too," Krem said, and rolled his eyes even before the Bull had done much more than raise his head. "Not sure I buy it. No attacks, anyway, but if we can pick up any sign of it while we're dealing with the bandits then I'd guess there's extra coin in that."

"We'll check it out," the Bull said, with as much restraint as he could manage, which wasn't much, in this context. "I mean—a _dragon_. That's not the kind of shit you see every day."

"Why did you have to tell him about the sodding dragon?" Rocky asked.

The Bull snorted. "What, something that might explode and you're not interested? Are you shitting me?"

"In theory. I'm interested in theory. You bring me the glands, that's one thing."

"Have another ale," Dalish said consolingly, and Rocky sighed and shook his head, but took the ale and shut up. They all knew it was a losing battle anyway.

 

 

The bandits had taken over a run-down fortress in the hills, one of a dozen similar relics strung along a wall that formed the old front line of some forgotten war. They stretched across the plains and up through the mountains, crumbling battlements and old watchtowers between them. Nobody had walked the wall on legitimate business for hundreds of years, probably. Not an easy job to root them out, the place a maze of fallen masonry and tight corners, fucking spiral staircases all over.

Tiring work. But good. Satisfying.

"Skinner, have your lot go through one more time," the Bull said. "Check every damn corner. See what kind of shit they've got lying around."

Krem was crouched over a chest, one hand on his maul for support, going through letters; he handed the stack of them up to the Bull for further examination when they were somewhere that stank less. The Bull would've just put them straight into a pocket, but there it was, right on the first sheet: _I tell you, if you insist once more that you cannot deal with a single Maker-forsaken dragon then I will be forced to turn to some more competent group—_

There. Not just bandits after all, for all they'd been doing a roaring trade in banditry along the mountain pass. But quite definitely a dragon.

 

 

They tracked the dragon for most of the next day. Clawed up tree trunks, burnt grass, the remains of a fight—more dead bandits, their armour torn apart. 

"You sure this is a good idea, chief?" Krem asked. "Looks like it's pretty big. Here." The marks of its claws had left gouges wider than three of Krem's fingers straight through the breastplate of the man he was examining, two of them, shoulder to hip, so that the thing held together only by its leather strapping.

"Yeah," the Bull said, though he felt a little bad about dragging his boys into it. "I'm sure." It felt important. Tugged at him.

"Ugh," Krem said. "You and dragons."

"Yeah," the Bull said again, because there wasn't anything else to add.

 

 

The lair was empty. A musty cave, full of the sound of water, although it was itself dry. It must connect down somehow to some underwater river, fissures or winding tight passages. 

A dragon definitely lived there, no question. A great hollow was lined with fabric, tufts of wool, all manner of soft things compacted down by the weight of a great body, and against the walls were drifts of trinkets and curiosities, disarranged. Some glowed idly. One or two seemed to move. Curiously, there were also books, tattered piles of parchment, damaged beyond usefulness. An indiscriminate sort, then, snatching anything and everything that caught its eye. Not much dust on any of it, and it looked like it'd all been disturbed recently.

"Let be," the Bull said, noticing a few faces looking at the treasure with interest. "Some of that shit's magic. Nobody's losing a hand in a stupid accident today."

He wanted to wait. You could set a pretty good ambush outside the cave, probably, if you picked your spots carefully—

But they had other work to do. No justifying putting shit off more than one day.

He stood for a long time, all the same, taking in the details of the cave, the smell of the dragon. Turned reluctantly, finally, only when Krem yelled for the third time that they were going to lose the light.

 

 

There was a man on the road. The moment the Bull saw him he thought of fire, an image so vivid it was like a flash of heat shooting through him; but probably it was the flare of the setting sun against the man's dark skin that did it, setting him glowing, catching on the many rings he wore. The elaborate bands around his arms. 

Perhaps it was only that the Bull was lost in thoughts of dragon-fire already.

"Care if you're heading to the mountains," Krem called, because he was the nice one.

The man stopped, looked up at them, his expression shadowed and unreadable. "Goodness," he said. His tone could have meant anything.

He wore a long travelling-robe without sleeves, patched and repaired time and again, some sixty years out of fashion. His rings were from at least three different countries, two of them beyond the sea, and none of them looked have less than twenty years of history, although the man himself could hardly have been more than a child twenty years ago. Heirlooms, sure. Maybe. 

The bands around his arms were entirely a mystery to the Bull, their style and form unlike anything he knew.

He didn't like people he couldn't place. And at the same time—

"Yeah," the Bull said. "There's a dragon about somewhere. Found its lair, but it wasn't home. You don't want to be on the mountain at night."

The man's eyes widened. They were lined with dark smears of kohl, hurriedly applied. He had a little mustache, carefully curled above gorgeous lips. "Well," he said. "That certainly _does_ sound rather dangerous. I suppose I might be wise to seek protection with a group of skilled professionals. I do, of course, have coin." 

His gaze rested on the Bull the entire time, at once compelling and unsettling. The Bull wanted the man's eyes on him, and he didn't know why he wanted it. Sure, he was attractive, for all his strangeness. But even if there was a little hint of good clean lust in there, the whole of it was far less simple.

"What's your proposal?" the Bull asked. "You're heading north?"

"I was," the man said, "but it seems I should find another pass. Will you let me travel with you until you reach a city?"

The Bull considered him carefully, turned to Krem. "A moment."

The two of them stepped aside.

"The fuck, chief," Krem said. "He's suspect."

"Yeah," the Bull said. "Look. I want to keep an eye on him. Get a feel for if he's up to something that needs stopping."

"Is that our job?" Krem asked, not with exasperation, but with genuine curiosity. Sometimes the Bull's jobs were out of the ordinary.

"Not yet," the Bull said. "But it could be. Look, I'm letting him tag along, and I'm going to figure out his shit. He's all above board, no harm done: he gets the safest passage to the Marches he could hope for, we get paid."

"Yeah, fine," Krem said. "It's not going to be like that, is it?"

"Nah," the Bull said. "Probably not. If I was really a harmless traveller I wouldn't trust a gang like us without references. But it _could_ be."

They rejoined the strange traveller. 

"Deal," the Bull said, and sketched a bow, his horns never dipping lower than the crown of the other's head. "Talk money with Krem while we walk. It'll be too dark to see shit soon." He scratched at the base of a horn. "I'm the Iron Bull. You got a name?"

"Dorian," the man said. He seemed about to add more, an awkward little pause with nothing to fill it. He glanced away, back up at the Bull, and now he was smiling, nothing sinister about it. "Thank you, truly. My life has been rather more eventful than I'd prefer of late. A little good luck was certainly in order."

"Don't know if I'd call a dragon good luck," Krem said

Rocky laughed. "Unless you're the chief."

The man looked up at that, raised an eyebrow at the Bull.

"Hey," the Bull said. "Dragons are fucking great."

A little quirk of a smile again. "I suppose you would think so. You're rather a dragon yourself, yes?"

The Bull allowed himself laughter, open and pleased. "That's a good one."

"Of course it is," the man said. "I'm ever so good at everything I do, naturally."

The Bull was pretty sure it was less than half a joke. Yes, this was one to watch.


End file.
